


From graves forgotten

by InvertedPhantasmagoria



Series: and I forge myself [3]
Category: Bleach
Genre: Aizen Sosuke Being a Bastard, Banter, Character Development, Fear Play, Gen, How Do I Tag, Intimidation, Memories, Mild Gore, Original Character(s), Past Lives, Power Dynamics, Predator/Prey, Psychological Torture, in a weird way, mild xeno
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-05-11
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:00:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24126271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InvertedPhantasmagoria/pseuds/InvertedPhantasmagoria
Summary: The Fourth Espada returns to Las Noches with a chunk missing from the space between his shoulder and his throat.Ulquiorra appears at the entrance of Las Noches after being gone for far too long, wide-eyed and staggering, his uniform stained with blood. There’s no longer a sword at his hip.A deep, deep shudder runs through the Arrancar as a whole.Grimmjow laughs. Grimmjow reminds Aizen that hedidsay that there was a monster out there.
Series: and I forge myself [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1428913
Comments: 11
Kudos: 44





	From graves forgotten

**Author's Note:**

> Hello again! It's once more time for the "titan Mosasaur stole my soul" series! :D I'm well aware that this is extremely self-indulgent, but oh well. I'm enjoying writing it, so hopefully, some of you all will enjoy reading it as well. UwU Zora is fun to write, really. She's a scary lady... 
> 
> Anyway, my Bleach and personal tumblrs are below. Come talk to me if you wanna!
> 
> arrancxr.tumbr.com
> 
> invertedphantasmagoria.tumblr.com

The Fourth Espada returns to Las Noches with a chunk missing from the space between his shoulder and his throat. 

Ulquiorra appears at the entrance of Las Noches after being gone for far too long, wide-eyed and staggering, his uniform stained with blood. There’s no longer a sword at his hip. 

A deep, deep shudder runs through the Arrancar as a whole. 

Grimmjow laughs. Grimmjow reminds Aizen that he _did_ say that there was a monster out there. 

Aizen doesn’t punish him for speaking out. 

A meeting is called when Ulquiorra is in any shape to attend again. The Espada, all ten of them, sit at Aizen’s table. For once, there’s not much anger between them. Aizen takes a sip of his tea, intertwines his fingers, and makes it very clear that something needs to be done. 

No one has any suggestions. Even Nnoitra, who would have been expected to volunteer to fight the thing himself, is silent. 

Aizen asks Barragan very politely if he knows anything. Barragan’s huffed response is that there’s been nothing that could surpass him since he became king. 

Something that could destroy the Sixth and the Fourth is beyond even the scope of Barragan’s power, they all know. 

How has it gone unnoticed for so long?

Ulquiorra reports that the monster _ate_ his spiritual energy. Grimmjow, for once, agrees. Both of them, with more vulnerability than anyone wants to see, then agree that the monster was the coldest thing they’d ever felt-- a chill that puts the air of Hueco Mundo itself to shame. 

There’s a solemn silence between all of the Arrancar who’ve made it so far. The idea of consumption doesn’t sit well with anyone. It never has. 

Aizen smiles peacefully, appearing for all the world serene. He says, simply, that they’ll just have to figure out how to destroy it. Or better yet, recruit the naturally-formed Arrancar to their side. 

Starrk _helpfully_ adds in an, “If it’s possible.”

. . . 

Zora sits by herself in a cave she tracked down. She needs a base; somewhere to store the weapons she’ll collect. Ulquiorra had said that there were more of his kind, and that means more to take. Zora considers the prospect of killing them all. 

No, she decides, killing would be a waste. Beautiful creatures such as herself, with swords, energy that slides down her throat, and meat that tastes like nothing are far too precious to just _kill._

She wants to find the source of them. She wants to see what this ‘Aizen’s’ army is like. 

Zora deposits her two swords in the deepest reaches of the cave she found. She pulses her energy for one instant, leaving enough traces of it on the cave that no one else will get close. She knows, by now, that the creatures here are born of fear. 

Sitting on the lip of the cave, overlooking the sand, Zora laughs as loudly as she pleases, the sound echoing through the desert. 

Waiting for another one seems far too boring. 

With a yawn, Zora stands. She’s ready to go do something entertaining. She’s had enough of sitting out in the sand.

. . . 

For the Arrancar in Las Noches, the weak are to stay out of the way. The Espada are the ones above-- and Aizen-sama is as good as a god. 

Di-Roy, at the bottom of the pecking order, understands this fact well. 

As much as he resents it, things like him are consumed more often than not in the world of Hueco Mundo. At one point, he almost was. 

The chunk that was torn out of him still aches. It never stops. There’s always the vague, nauseating pain of having a piece missing that he can never get back, no matter what he does. 

Di-Roy imagines that Grimmjow feels much the same right now. With Pantera taken, with a piece of what amounts to himself missing, it seems like Grimmjow is finally understanding what the concept of ‘loss’ means. What it feels like to have had something truly, truly taken. 

It’s hard to say that Di-Roy feels too sorry for him. 

As much as he respects his boss, there’ll always be the gap that exists between all Hollows. The one of kill or be killed and eat or be eaten. 

For now, Di-Roy sits outside Las Noches, just a short ways away. He’s avoiding Grimmjow’s wrath-- one ill-placed comment almost got his nose broken earlier, and he’s in no hurry to go back and have to dodge again. 

He’s staring out into the sand, the endless sea of white, wondering what a monster that can crush the Sixth looks like. 

Human, probably. Hollows do seem to go back to their roots when they get stronger.

For some reason, the air seems a little colder than usual today. 

. . . 

Zora moves through the sand easily. Even though it’s miles away, she can feel the palace and its inhabitants with barely a thought. Her goal is where these ‘Espada’ congregate. Her goal is to find those who are like her-- those whose energy she can taste and be satisfied by. 

Under the sand, Zora doesn’t need to breathe. She can move freely, faster than even the bursts of speed she’s discovered that she can use on solid ground. 

Before long, she feels herself closing in on her new prey. 

Zora surfaces. She’s near the castle, as it’s turned out to be. For a moment, she stands, simply staring. 

The ‘castle’ is the size of a city, at least from what she can see. 

A laugh tears through Zora’s throat before she knows it. A _fortress._ She’s going to have a city-sized fortress unlike anything in the world she’d lived in before. The endless white is offputting, too pure, but she doesn’t care a bit. 

This is going to be her _true_ fight. 

Zora closes her eyes, stretching the edges of her mind out to find someone who can ‘guide’ her to where she needs to go. A helper will be necessary for a castle of this size.

In a moment, she finds someone a short way outside the outer walls. The person is very, very weak-- almost pathetically so. From the feel of their energy, she could swallow it all down in one gulp. 

Someone so weak will be easy to intimidate, Zora thinks, baring her teeth to the wind in a mockery of a smirk. 

. . . 

For some reason, Di-Roy gets a very bad feeling. Not the kind of bad feeling that comes before being hit, no-- the kind of bad feeling that comes from being near death itself. 

He shudders. As much as he hates to be called a coward, going back inside to where his allies wait suddenly seems like a good idea. 

Di-Roy stands on worryingly shaky legs. 

He turns around to the sight of someone standing behind him. 

It’s a woman, monstrously tall, with a mane of wild, dark hair, and twin crowns of spikes rising from the side of her head. There’s a hole through her hand. All she’s wearing is a gray, tattered cloth knotted haphazardly around her hips.

The look in her eyes makes Di-Roy feel like he’s choking on blood. She’s calm in a way that’s pure terror. 

“Greetings, little one,” the woman says, taking the short few steps to stand beside him. He barely goes up to her chest. She’s taller than _Nnoitra._ “This is the palace where the Espada live, correct?”

There’s a lilt in her voice that Di-Roy doesn’t recognize, some accent sliding over her words. Even though her tone is friendly, Di-Roy is consumed by the feeling that she wants to eat him alive. 

He can’t feel so much as a trace of her spiritual pressure. 

It quickly settles in that this, _this_ has to be the monster beneath the sands. She’s an Arrancar, that much is obvious. 

And where do those come from, but Aizen-sama or the sand itself?

. . . 

The little creature looks like he’s about to die from fear. 

Zora takes in the hole through his chest; the massive helmet weighing down his head. He’s the same as her, in a way. In some small way. 

“Breathe. Breathe, already. And answer my question while you’re at it.” Zora leans in, getting nice and close. She towers over the boy. She could crush his throat with one hand. He smells like terror itself-- hot and sharp and pleasant against her lungs. 

How frightening it must be for him. 

“Wh-Why do y-you wanna know...?” he gets out at last, barely able to form words. 

Zora tilts her head, letting her smile widen. Oh, how he’s bluffing. 

“Because, boy. I’m here for a... very important reason. I need to meet with your leader, you see?” 

How lovely. She’s found one that knows to be scared. Zora doesn’t know exactly what she plans to do yet-- with this one or with the fortress itself--, but playing around a bit certainly won’t hurt. 

. . . 

Di-Roy swallows, feeling far too much like he’s being considered for a snack. The woman’s smile makes him feel far too much like _prey._

“I-I--” he stutters out, sounding pathetic to his own ears. It’s impossible to decide if he should try to be strong or make the smart choice and bend to the woman’s will. “I, d-don’t know if I-I can do that...”

“Oh?” she replies. “Whyever not? It’s, I would think, a very simple request... even for one as weak as yourself. 

And _that’s_ a threat.

Di-Roy’s legs give out. He hits the stone underneath him hard, instinctively curling in a bit, trying to hide his soft parts. He feels like he’s going to vomit. This is too much. He’s _cornered._ He can’t get away from her no matter what he does. 

“B-Because--” Di-Roy chokes, trying to think of some reason why he can even _try_ to stand up for himself. He’s quickly running out of reasons to consider, and she’s still standing there; waiting. 

The woman drops to her knees beside him. Di-Roy flinches, barely resisting the urge to try to cover his head. 

One of the woman’s massive, massive hands reaches out toward him. 

For a moment, Di-Roy thinks he’s about to be gutted. 

Instead, her hand lands on his mask, right on the verge between shielding bandages and naked bone. For one moment her hand _pets,_ stroking over the place that makes Di-Roy shudder and gag. 

“You’d be difficult,” she says. 

“Wh-What--?”

“When I don’t have a sword, I kill them by bashing their skulls in with rocks. Big ones. As big as my hand can hold. Your skull is covered by this thing, so you’d be just a _little_ more difficult. I wonder... if I shattered it, what would be inside?” The woman gives an awful, _awful_ grin. 

Di-Roy really does dry-heave at that. Panic hits him like a bucket of ice water, chilling him down through every vein. 

_Shattered._

“O-Okay!” he yelps, squeaks. “I-I’ll ta-take you to A-Aizen-sama. P-Please quit t-touching it--” He can’t stand her cold hand on such a sensitive place for even a moment longer.

“There’s a good boy.” the woman says, perfectly calm. 

. . .

The boy hauls himself to his feet. It takes him a couple of tries. His legs give out twice-- his wrists once more. 

Zora watches with amusement. She’s having fun already. The strong ones were entertaining, but the weak ones have their charm. She rises on her own, once again standing to what feels like twice above his level. 

“See, was that so hard?” she asks when he manages to steady himself. “If you just _listen_ to me, no harm will come to you at all. I’m not here to kill things, little one... so don’t make me want to.”

The look he gives her is pure terror.

“Y-You ca-can Sonido, r-right?” he chokes. Then, to clarify, “th-- the b-burst of s-speed thing...”

“Ah, so that’s what it’s called,” Zora smiles, calm.

. . . 

Even with the woman just trailing after him, Di-Roy can tell that she’s terrifyingly fast. She keeps up with him in a way that gives him the feeling he wouldn’t stand a chance if she was putting any effort in. 

Di-Roy moves as quickly as he can, even though he knows that he’s horribly unsteady. He’s honestly surprised that he hasn’t run into anything yet with the way his legs keep threatening to give out. Having that _thing_ behind him is setting him on edge in all of the worst ways. 

He takes the quickest route to Aizen’s throne room that’s possible. With any luck, once she has better things to occupy herself with, the woman will leave him alone. 

Or maybe she’ll just kill him to save herself the trouble later. 

Shuddering on that thought alone, Di-Roy forces himself to move a little bit faster. This monster can be Aizen’s problem, not his. 

They reach the hallway to the throne room without any interruption. Fortunately, everyone is keeping to themselves in the wake of the news of the monster that lives under the sand. 

Unfortunately, said monster has come to visit. 

Ulquiorra is waiting in the hallway. Di-Roy bites down on a swear. The Fourth has healed by now, but Di-Roy will never forget Grimmjow’s description of the chunk torn out of his throat. 

The woman comes to a perfect stop behind Di-Roy, who in turn sees Ulquiorra’s eyes go almost comically wide. The Fourth has always been the pinnacle of impassive apathy. Seeing him take a little step back in obvious fear is a sight that leaves it hard to decide whether to laugh or curl up into a little ball and pray that the _monster_ doesn’t come for him next.

“Ah, my friend,” the woman grins, giving a little wave. “I see that your wound has healed.” She taps the side of her own throat, showing her teeth. 

“What are you doing here?” Ulquiorra hisses. 

“Well... what _would_ someone be doing at a fortress of a palace?” She tilts her head mockingly. “I’m here to see your leader, of course.”

. . . 

Di-Roy takes that moment to sneak away, Ulquiorra notes. The little worm was the one to bring the monster here, which will have to be dealt with... later. Later, when he’s not staring her down once again. 

“You want to see Aizen-sama?”

“Yes. That’s what I said, isn’t it? Do listen when I speak.” 

She’s grinning. She’s mocking him. If it was anyone else, he’d be reminding them of why he’s an _Espada._ With this woman, his options are far more limited. 

The throne room isn’t far behind him. Ulquiorra could take her right to Aizen-sama and leave his ‘god’ to deal with her. Aizen _did_ say that he wanted to try to recruit the monster himself. He’d probably be pleased to see that the thing he wanted came right to his doorstep. 

But a part of Ulquiorra hates the thought of giving in so easily. He’s supposed to be untouchable. The idea of surrender doesn’t sit well. 

“...very well.”

After a tense moment of silence, it’s all he can say. 

His place is under Aizen’s command, Ulquiorra reminds himself. He has no need for feelings such as pride or anger. Emotions will only make him weak. He’ll just stand by and watch the monster’s downfall. 

. . . 

He obeys. Zora can only smile. She still knows how to command respect, after all, it appears. 

It’s a good thing that he’s making this easy for her. 

Ulquiorra Cifer turns and walks down the hallway behind them, his posture just a little bit too stiff to truly be uncaring. Zora follows with laughter on her lips. 

The white halls of this palace are pleasing, in a way. Her world was full of colors, of brown and green and gray, of jewels and gold and silver. Pure, endless white is new. The artificial smell of the place even more so. Aside from the people that she can taste, there’s not much of anything. 

Her dear Ulquiorra leads her to a pair of massive doors. He pushes them open with a single hand, and they move easily, without a sound. 

Inside is another, larger room of white. This time, with steps leading up to a massive throne of equally white stone. 

And on that throne sits a person with a taste unlike any other. 

It’s a man, tall and young and slender. By the shape of his face, his body can’t be much older than twenty. He’s fine-featured, pretty, with dark hair and dark eyes. His energy tastes sharp and silver, like frigid water or the crescent edge of the moon. 

The man looks at Zora with measured calm, eyes sliding from Ulquiorra to her. 

“Ulquiorra,” he starts, tone low and even, “who is this? I wasn’t aware that we had a guest on her way.” He says it with so much serenity that Zora can barely not laugh. He’s trying far, far too hard. 

“Greetings,” Zora says simply, before Ulquiorra has a moment to speak. She gives a little bow. “My name is Zora. Zora and nothing more.”

The man keeps smiling. 

“I’m here,” she continues, “to meet with the leader of this palace. A leader who I’m assuming is you. Am I correct, young man?”

“You are. I am Aizen Sousuke, the ruler of Las Noches. And _I’m_ assuming you’re the Arrancar under the sands who’s been torturing my followers recently?” 

“Torturing? That’s far too strong a word for what I’ve done! Sousuke... you must know that I could do far worse.” She laughs; a cold sound. 

Next to her, Zora gets the impression that Ulquiorra wishes he could put his hand through her throat. He’s remaining silent, standing beside her like a statue and not interfering with so much as a word, but Zora can taste the frustration pouring off of him. And sweeter yet-- the fear. 

“I’m sure you could,” Aizen responds, terribly polite.

Zora takes a step forward, then another. She starts her way up the stairs leading to his throne, bare feet quiet against the cold, hard stone. She’s unarmed and his sword is at his side. How entertaining this will be.

Aizen’s eyes follow her all the way up. Zora reaches the top platform, towering over his seated form. 

“Yes, I could. We both know that. Now, as for why I’m here... well, what do you think? What could bring a monster to your doorstep, hm? Do you have any guesses, dear ruler?” The air is cold against Zora’s lips. The world around her has frozen in place. 

“Perhaps you’re here to join me,” Aizen ventures, clearly making his intent clear. “Perhaps you felt our power and decided that you’d like to see it for yourself. You are, after all, an Arrancar just like mine.”

Zora just grins. That may, in some way, be the truth. 

She knows what power feels like. She knows the strength of having a near-army at her command. The promise of power did indeed draw her in, but not in the way that this Aizen wants to think. 

He’s arrogant.

All this time, she’s been containing the energy simmering under her skin. Zora knows how to keep in so sealed that not even a whisper escapes.

Aizen’s frigid-water taste is tempting her terribly. She wants to _eat._

Perhaps now is a good time to show her strength.


End file.
